Who were your heroes or villains of the last year, and why? Who inspired you? Who had you kicking the cat across the room? They don't have to be well known, you might even want to laud the achievements of your binman. (Note that "Nick Clegg nuff said" answers puts you straight onto our naughty list)

I’m afraid my hero of 2011 isn’t quite as noble as some of the ones I’ve read this week…

My hero of 2011 was just a child. An innocent little kid. And no, he doesn’t have leukaemia, the bad aids, any limbs missing, nor has he suffered any particular life trauma…(at least I don’t think so – I only met him once and never got to speak to him).

It was mid-December, and I was scrote deep into one of those not-quite-last-minute shopping trips round Tesco to get some buffet food etc before Christmas. It was one of those times when, as you bollock around the heaving lanes, you become aware of the embarrassing situation that you have unwittingly become part of a group of total strangers that are somehow ‘synchronised’ as you all proceed to stop, start, and snake around half a dozen aisles; tripping over each other and invading body space as you reach for the shelves.

Everybody was harassed. – Well, it wasn’t that long ago – you all remember what it was like.

Amongst our troupe of about 9 happy shoppers was a chav couple, some stressed blokes, an immensely hideous pretend-posh crone of a woman, a young mum, and this little lad, who was obviously pissed off about being in Tesco (considering Toys ‘R’ Us is next door), but behaving himself nonetheless.

As for this pretend-posh arsed bint though…you could tell that she considered herself borderline royalty - yet she didn’t possess even an ounce of class. I mean, In the name of the sacred love egg collection of Bob ‘King Dong’ Holness, this was only Tesco for fucks’ sake, not Harrods! how ‘la-de-da’ could she be? And besides, I know some real poshies and they’re alright, so I’m not saying there’s owt wrong with a touch of breeding and privilege etc when it’s handled correctly.

This pompous tart however - was just ‘stuck-up’ her own chutney clout to gargantuan proportions, Like an early forties, ‘Hyacinth Bucket’ sort of specification, with the full fur coat, make up that possibly required a cement mixer to help apply, hard-coiffed, bolted-on hair, whilst dripping with enough chunky gold to satisfactorily explain the question: ‘I wonder what happened to the fabled ‘Jingle Jangle jewellery’ collection, now that Jimmy Saville’s thrown a seven’?

The worst things about her though, were her Hoity-toity, spiteful voice, and her cuntish attitude. She was one of those – ‘whether it’s actually true or not, I’m better than you’ women that you tend to despise almost on sight. In the brief time I had spent in her company she had barged a couple of people out of the way (without an apology), grabbed a poor shop assistant (who reminded me of Justin Hawkins from the Darkness by the way, and who was desperately trying to stack shelves to keep up with demand) and made him traipse around after her for about 5 minutes as she fired questions like ‘Why do you call this ‘finest’? it’s ghastly!‘, before making the poor fucker sprint off and collect things for her.

As I write, it is now my suspicion that the hero boy’s mother must’ve been mumbling and complaining about this woman under her breath to inspire his act of heroism, so I should possibly share the award of ‘hero’ with her. Anyhoo, as we all trundled round, quite a few of us certainly shared a couple of those disapproving glances and rolled our eyes at the events as they occurred.

I suppose I should have said something. But I didn’t. I’m English – my whole ‘comeuppance’, and ‘putting people straight’ repertoire goes about as hard core as 'muttering under my breath', and the occasional ‘tut’. Yep, I’m a cowardly cock-rot.

So, as Lady Muck continued to saunter round and bully the poor haggard staff who were probably already fit to drop to their knees, we all entered the refrigerated meat aisle (which was abso-bastard-lutely heaving, meaning we were pushed even closer together – much to her disgruntlement).

In the kerfuffle that ensued however, the boy managed to slip just a few feet out of his mother’s reach...and right into the oncoming path of Miss ‘Cash for Gold’ 2011 (or should that be 'Gold for Cash'?)

I was only a couple of feet away from him, I could tell the boy was shy, but he seemed strangely motivated. This kid had something on his mind.

Fortuitously for all of us, he had also managed to perfectly time his approach with a slight lull in the hustle and bustle that was going on so that his activity could attract the interest of everyone in the nearby vicinity.

The young lad strolled up to Cruella DeVille’s less popular sister and he tugged very gently a couple of times on her fur coat. He then spoke with a voice so angelic that it would make Charlotte Church sound like Andre Villas Boas gargling nails and napalm.

'Excuse me...’ he whimpered politely, with a quizzical expression on his young face.

The woman clearly had no time for this – and she sternly glared down at him, looking down her nose (which, in her defence, I suppose she sort of had to do...he was a lot shorter than her after all)

“Yeeeeeees...?” she sneered.

The boy gulped slightly, then looked back directly into her beady eyes before asking quite clearly, with a combination of (accidentally) perfect timing and sublime innocence:

“......erm......Do your farts smell?”

...

The sheer hugeness of the shock-lol that erupted from the whole aisle seemed almost vast enough to blow the lamb chops clear into the fruit ‘n’ veg section. Some people tried, (and some succeeded) to stifle their giggles – fair play to them. I wasn’t quite as tactful.

The decibel-busting ‘Pfffffffft’ that launched forth from my cake-hole drenched half my trolley in dribble, and caused me to fire my chewing gum out with such vigour that I doubt it has actually landed yet.

Time then seemed to stand still as the grizzled harridan merely stood rooted to the spot. Everyone else either looked at the floor waiting for a reaction or suddenly made good their escape.

But what was the woman’s response? Well, unfortunately, she didn’t really have one – she didn’t get time. The lads’ poor mum had reached over and dragged him away before any further damage could be done. From his expression I think he actually had more to say…Of course, I can only imagine what - and I can’t decide if he was either going to ask her for tips, or inform her boastfully about the monumentally smelly guff that had been dropped by some clearly talented anal trumpeter near the cereal aisle.

To be fair, as I looked at both women, it was almost a dead heat between who was the more gobsmacked – The woman on the wrong end of this quite phenomenal question, or the boy’s mother – whose scarlet face of burning embarrassment was about to start frying the beef on the fridge shelves.

The rest of the shopping trip for me was a bit of a blur…but I remember it was mostly spent by me looking like an even bigger twat than usual as I staggered around, semi-helpless, pushing a badly weighted trolley about…and struggling to see where I was going due to having to wipe the tears streaming down my face. I think I may have popped my spleen.

So that gentle reader, is why, of all the worthwhile candidates...that the anonymous young boy of Tesco is my Hero of 2011

And as for the Villain? – Oh I don’t know. Life’s too short to hate…Pick your own. Happy new year.
(Pooflakebraces for an onslaught..., Wed 4 Jan 2012, 16:29,
closed)

Cheers Cap...
I agree - I think that the mum must've said something along the lines of 'no matter how posh they think they are, I bet they all still have smelly farts' or something to that effect, and that got the boy thinking...

a joy
take note talk tossers and main board mongs
(spimf™ is whoever you want him to be, Wed 4 Jan 2012, 20:27,
closed)

i tell you what
i really miss pooflake and spanky's post's. Youre a Diamond pooflake you really are. I have actually just read the story out to people on the table next to me in my office and we are all crying with laughter. Hearty click
(Cov Boy, Thu 5 Jan 2012, 9:49,
closed)

I often think of what a dull, drab place the world would be if we all liked the same stuff.

btw - you may want to put me on ignore - because 'over-written and not that funny' pretty much sums up everything I've ever done...apart from my puns...they were just shite.
(Pooflakebraces for an onslaught..., Thu 5 Jan 2012, 12:16,
closed)